Caught
by ChelsieSouloftheAbbey
Summary: A birthday fic for Mistressdickens, with cover art designed by Dameofdownstairs! This one-shot is set the evening before the Carsons' wedding, and can be considered a prequel to "Shift." Enjoy!
**A/N: Wishing a VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Mistressdickens, writer extraordinaire, who deserves much more than this simple fic. It comes from a song lyric we discussed very recently, one which we'll likely both use again as inspiration. If you like, you can consider this a prequel to "Shift," my wedding night fic.**

 **The cover art for this was lovingly designed by Dameofdownstairs, to whom I now owe an even bigger debt of gratitude. And, ahem, she has an Etsy store ... check it out!**

 **Please enjoy and drop a little review my way if you feel so inclined, and then send birthday love to Mistressdickens either here or on tumblr. :)**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 ** _"I'm caught, and it has set me free."_**

It was unseasonably cold on the eve before the wedding. The winds had died down as dusk turned into nightfall, but the setting of the sun had brought a chill to Elsie's bones - something that was familiar, albeit unwelcome.

Still, cold nights aside, she loved this time of year when the Earth was reborn, when buds crept up from the darkness and shyly bloomed, when the lengthening days were encouraging in their brightness, and when small creatures could be found peeking out from their slumber and scurrying about. She may not be a farm girl anymore, but spring was still a season full of promise in her eyes; she smiled softly as she reflected upon how it seemed the perfect time of year to embark upon the next phase of her life.

 _New beginnings for all, apparently._

The gentle knock on the bedroom door was one that Elsie recognized instantly. It didn't set her heart a-flutter, but spoke of friendship and home.

 _Home._

She pondered that word as she moved to open the door; it was one that, tonight, brought both comfort and sadness, for this was the _last_ night she'd be spending in _this_ home, the home she'd been enveloped by these last thirty-odd years. She sighed and pulled the door open to smile at her _other_ best friend.

"I've brought some tea, thought you could use it," Mrs. Patmore said quietly. "I know the cold just does you in sometimes."

"Thank you," Elsie said, moving aside so that her friend could enter the room with the tray – which, she noted with another smile, boasted two teacups instead of just one, set alongside a tin of biscuits. She motioned to the chairs by the bed, and Mrs. Patmore sat.

"Please tell me you've come to have a somewhat _easier_ chat than the last one we had in this room," Elsie joked, and the cook's laughter rang out loudly.

"Yes," Mrs. Patmore said, "I should certainly hope so!" She watched as Elsie poured the tea then added, "But that _is_ all settled now, isn't it?"

Elsie took a deep, fortifying breath, and nodded, blushing slightly. But she didn't divert her gaze, not this time.

"It is, and we simply cannot thank you enough," she said. "I _am_ sorry to have put you in that awkward position. It cannot have been easy for you and, in hindsight, I feel terribly foolish for having involved you at all."

"Oh, it's no bother. It's done now, and I'm happy you've got it all sorted." She paused, tilting her head as she reflected back on her awkward conversations with Mr. Carson.

"What is it?" Elsie asked as she carefully sipped the steaming liquid.

"Oh, nothing really," Mrs. Patmore said softly, shaking her head a bit.

"Mrs. Patmore – _Beryl_ ," Elsie implored.

The cook looked up, a smile on her face as the last vestige of formality crumbled between them. "Be sure you only call me that when Daisy's out of earshot – I'd hate for her to get _more_ crazy ideas in her head!"

Elsie rolled her eyes slightly and laughed. "Oh, whatever _has_ gotten into that girl these days?"

"Well," Beryl said, removing the lid on the biscuit tin and pulling a couple out, "if you ask me, she's nervous about the exams, interested in a lovely young man, and wondering when she'll finally grow up for good."

"She should act like it, then," Elsie said sharply. "I'm sorry, that was unkind," she quickly added, "but honestly, I ask you!"

"I know!" Beryl replied, shaking her head. "Well, anyhow, I didn't come up here to talk about Daisy. I was worried about you, if you must know. How are you? Is everything all set for tomorrow, or is there something I can do for you?"

Elsie turned the questions over in her mind as she drank her tea, thinking for such a long time that Beryl worried her dear friend was _not,_ in fact, well at all.

"Elsie?" she ventured quietly.

"Oh, don't mind me," Elsie replied. "I'm alright, I think. All set for tomorrow, once Miss Baxter finishes the alterations on the coat. That business with her Ladyship really knocked me down, I don't mind telling you."

"Mm. Kind of her though, in the end, wasn't it? I think she truly felt awful," Beryl murmured.

Elsie nodded, thinking back on it. It wasn't an experience she'd forget anytime soon, that was sure; it wasn't every day that a Lady made a special trip to the servants' corridor to deliver a personal gift and a heartfelt apology.

"I know," she said. "I think that's what made me most uncomfortable, the fact that _she_ felt so badly about it all."

"Well, surely _he_ won't hold it against you?"

Beryl looked at her friend for a moment and saw the myriad expressions that flitted across Elsie's face as she contemplated their esteemed butler: curiosity, calm, wonder, mirth … and something else.

"No, I am sure he won't," Elsie murmured.

 _Oh, yes,_ Beryl thought with a surge in her heart, **_her_** _love is there, too, alright._

"Beryl? You keep looking at me strangely. You're making me nervous," Elsie teased, but only slightly - she truly _did_ wonder what her friend was keeping from her.

"He's loved you for a long time, I think," she said. "I was just thinking of how lovely it is that he finally got around to admitting it."

Elsie's cheeks flushed as her mind flitted back to the moments they'd stolen in his pantry or her sitting room since settling the bedroom nonsense, moments when his fingers had glided over hers as he handed her a cup of tea, when his large hands had gently rested on her shoulders before he helped her with her coat … She remembered how his fingertips had brushed her cheeks countless times, and had slipped into her hair twice … She remembered the feel of his lips brushing her temple, her forehead, her own lips, and – once – the underside her jaw, eliciting an unexpected gasp of pleasure from her that had produced a deep rumble from somewhere inside of _him._ They'd kissed several times since that night when they'd cleared away the confusion, each time a promise of something more beautiful to come.

"It has been lovely," she replied softly, reaching over to refill her cup with a slightly trembling hand.

Beryl reached out and laid her hand over Elsie's. "Allow me," she said, and Elsie sat back. As Beryl poured, Elsie got lost once again in her memories – all of them, the recent and the distant.

"You know, I used to think that getting married would be similar to being caught up in a trap," she said slowly, and she smiled at Beryl's curious gaze. "I don't _now,_ mind you, but I did once. As a farm girl, watching my Mam tied to the house, to her children, trying to make it all work," she mused. She was staring into her tea and missed Beryl's confused look, one that was indicative of a conversation to be held another time. "It wasn't the life I wanted _at all._ I had lofty ideas. I wanted to see something of the world, and I have."

"And it's changed you?"

Elsie laughed lightly, a sweet memory tickling the back of her mind.

"Life has _altered_ me," she said fondly, "and, I daresay, it's altered Charles as well."

"Clearly!" Beryl exclaimed, and they shared a laugh. "He made no secret of his feelings when we spoke," she added.

"I still can't believe that," Elsie whispered disbelievingly.

Beryl nodded, a kind smile on her lips and in her eyes. "Well, regardless of how long it took him to get there, you're _here_ now, and getting married tomorrow!"

… _A brush of his lips on her temple … His fingers dancing around the nape of her neck … Her name, spoken in a murmur, as his lips touched hers …_

"Yes, we are," Elsie whispered.

"Well, then, that's alright, isn't it?"

Elsie sat back a bit in her chair and looked at her friend. "Thank you," she said again. "For encouraging us both along the way."

"Well," she answered. "You're my best friends, I suppose. How could I not want you both to be as happy as you could possibly be?"

Elsie smiled, words completely escaping her. It was alright, though, she knew, because they were completely unnecessary.

As the women finished their tea and biscuits, the clock on Elsie's desk chimed midnight.

"Oh, my goodness! Somebody needs to get her beauty sleep," Beryl joked. "And so does the blushing bride!"

Elsie chuckled. "I'm not sure how much good it will do, or how much I will even sleep. It's strange to think of this being my last night in this room after all these years."

Beryl beamed at her friend. "That's true, but somehow I don't think you'll miss it once you're 'caught up in the trap'," she said pointedly.

Elsie just laughed. "Well, it certainly doesn't feel a trap anymore," she said, and Beryl looked at her quizzically.

"No?"

"No. Somehow, and I'm not sure why, it feels like the complete _opposite_ of that."

The women stood and Beryl took up the tray, turning to face her friend once more before heading down for the night.

"That's love, Elsie. I've no great experience with it, but I think that's when you know you've truly found something special. And I am so very happy for you."

Elsie reached out and squeezed Beryl's arm lightly. "Thank you," she said again, before moving around her and opening the door.

"See you bright and early," Beryl said. "Sweet dreams."

"You, too," Elsie replied, closing the door behind the cook.

She walked back over to her wardrobe, opening it and fingering the soft, dove grey dress, bought by her friend out of a desire to make the day something extra special, a desire for Elsie to simply feel beautiful. She was brought out of her thoughts once again by another knock.

"Mrs. Hughes?" came Miss Baxter's timid voice.

Elsie opened the door to find the woman standing before her with the coat.

"I've finished, if you'd like to try it on?"

"Oh, Miss Baxter, it's gorgeous," Elsie gushed. "Come in, please."

With the maid's help, Elsie donned the coat, standing still as Miss Baxter tugged and adjusted here and there.

"It's a bit snug here with your evening dress," she murmured, pulling at the shoulder slightly, "but should be fine with the grey one."

Elsie looked in her small mirror and gasped. "It's exquisite," she said, her eyes filling as she looked at Miss Baxter. "I can't thank you enough, honestly."

"You're more than welcome, Mrs. Hughes. You've been … well, quite a support to me," the woman said quietly. "I'm happy to have been able to do something kind for you. Her Ladyship _was_ truly sorry," she added.

"I know she was," Elsie acknowledged. "And I'm very grateful to her."

"Well, then, I'll bid you goodnight. Do make sure you get plenty of sleep, Mrs. Hughes," Miss Baxter said, a soft hint of teasing beneath her voice.

Elsie felt herself flush again and turned away as she went to hang the coat in the wardrobe. "Yes," she managed, "I suppose I should."

"I'll see you in the morning, then," Miss Baxter said, and she let herself out.

Elsie sighed as she looked upon the dress and coat, and at the new shoes that rested on the floor. She contemplated how she would look not twelve hours from now, wearing them and the lovely hat Anna had helped her fix up, standing before the entire Grantham family and all of their friends and making public for all to hear her feelings and commitment to Mr. Carson.

 _Charles,_ she corrected herself with a smile on her face and a surge in her heart. _My Charles. At last._

Elsie changed into her nightgown, brushed her teeth, and climbed into her small bed. She smoothed her fingers over the edge of the pillow, her heart racing as she realized that tomorrow night _his_ pillow would be beside hers and that the bed wouldn't be as cold ... nor as lonely. Tonight would be the last night she'd ever have to _imagine_ his arms wrapped around her as she drifted off to sleep, for tomorrow she'd be caught at last … and finally, _finally,_ set free.


End file.
